Aesop, in Rhyme, page 50 by Marmaduke Park
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neither work'd nor ate,
For thinking of his happy fate.
At night, when he retir'd to bed,
He plac'd the note beneath his head.
But could not sleep a single wink,
What he should do with it, to think;
And every little noise he heard,
That folks were come to rob him, fear'd.
Living in constant dread to all,
Who did but look towards his stall,
So lean and sallow he was grown,
The man was hardly to be known.
At last he begg'd the lord to see:
"Take back your present, sir," said he,
"Riches, I find, are not for me.
To-morrow I my song renew;
Not less my gratitude to you:
And care henceforward I will take,
My chaunts your slumber do not break."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.
A man a palfrey long possess'd,
A quiet, serviceable beast;
Spavin'd, indeed, and somewhat blind,
But still his way he well could find;
And if he stumbled now and then,
Was soon upon his feet again.
In short, for many a year, the pack
Had borne him safely on his back.
Till riding out one fatal day,
He overheard some coxcombs say,
"For such a man, 'tis quite a shame,
To mount a horse old, blind, and lame."
"Aye," replied one, "I know a steed
Would nobly carry him indeed;
Young, vigorous, beautiful, and sound;
His like is nowhere to be found."
In evil hour an ear he lent,
To view this boasted courser went:
Unwary on his back he got,
And tried to put him on a trot;
He rear'd and plung'd, and leap'd about,
Till from his seat he shook him out,
Then kicking, pitch'd him o'er his head,
And laid him on the pavement dead.
The vicious creature left at large,
On all his fury would discharge;
This from behind his heels surprise,
Trod under foot, that sprawling lies:
Another, who would seize the reins,
Is bit and mangled for his pains.
But want of nourishment and rest
Will tame at last the fiercest bea